


the difference of life and death is slim

by PsychicBananaSplit



Category: Original Work
Genre: Boys In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gender Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Public Masturbation, Shameless Smut, Trans Male Character, but you should read it anyway, you don't know these people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 08:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17915069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicBananaSplit/pseuds/PsychicBananaSplit
Summary: basically an original story with original characters made by me, but based off of the umbrella academy.micah sparrow met lane wallace, and that's when his life really began.





	the difference of life and death is slim

**Author's Note:**

> i based these characters off of umbrella academy's klaus and ben, kind of. but, they are my characters, and if you guys want to do anything with them, then ask me first. i will respond, i promise.  
> also, smut smut smut ahead. you were warned.

Micah Sparrow met Lane Wallace, and that’s when his life really began. Every touch, every subtle stare, every heartbeat beneath his fingers electrified him. Fueled him. Kissing rosebud lips and ivory skin was the only thing keeping him alive. Gray-green eyes staring him down on late nights full of weed and smoke and pleasure filled him with the feeling of such intense, pure power. Ability to do anything in the world. Things that he would have never thought of. Just him thinking about  _ sex  _ made him shiver. Since transitioning, or, rather, since  _ ever in his entire life, _ he never really wanted to take the risk. Now, he’s a hormonal teenager for the second time, and he’s horny 24/7, and all he wants is for someone to utterly  _ ravage  _ him. 

 

Lane just had that charisma surrounding him. His charming smile, his magnetic personality. Not only that, but his looks weren’t half bad. His lithe figure once benefited him in past-time gym class, Micah’s conspicuous and insistent gazing distracting him and causing him to trip over himself more times than he would like to admit. Caused him to hide several awkward boners in the changing room, then finger himself in the bathroom. Grinding against his hand until he found the blissful release. As dysphoric it was, he wouldn’t be able to survive French with his tight-ass skinny jeans rubbing against his boner. He couldn’t possibly do it.

 

Lane, on the other hand, wanted to gravitate towards Micah hadn’t the rest of the student body surrounded him. He just didn’t seem interested in society as a whole, and Lane felt that he needed to make everyone happy and proud of him (his newly found out manipulative childhood provided an explanation of why he feels that pressured), and Micah just wasn’t that interested. It took a long time of convincing that assured him that Micah replicated his feelings. The brunet seemingly never gave a single shit about the world. His confidence in himself, whatever he was doing, when he was doing it, who he was doing it as. It captivated him; the elegant, smooth, confident articulations with a pen or a brush or the quick tapping of the keys on a keyboard; his artistic side flowing freely on the canvas of his life. His story being written and told by himself. 

 

Their first kiss wasn’t fireworks and explosions and what movies depicted them to be. But, it was like a missing puzzle piece in both of their hearts, souls, being. It was like something that they never had, yet belonged to them. Something that made them whole again. 

 

The smell of cheap wine was heavy, suffocating. Lane was touching, biting, kissing every crack, crevice, angle, imperfection. Micah was in absolute bliss. Sighing, gasping, moaning each other’s names was heard throughout the empty house as their bodies slid together rhythmically. The couch arm was digging painfully into his shoulder, but Micah couldn’t possibly care less. Dull fingernails carded themselves through pale locks as a sharp bite right under his clavicle forced a quick intake of breath to hit Micah. A hand laid over Lane’s heart, the steadily speeding beating. 

 

The lube that was on the coffee table remained untouched until Lane straddled Micah’s hips and reached for it, clicking it open and pouring a generous amount on. He circled Micah’s entrance, teasing him, anticipation and the feeling of it making him grow somehow harder. One, two, then three long, lanky fingers were sucked into the tight suction of his lover’s hole. Curling his fingers just right, he hit this spot inside of him multiple times before he was sure that Micah was prepared. 

 

_ “Lane, fuck.” _

 

_ “Oh, Micah, god.” _

 

Stroking himself a few times, he entered slowly inside. Tight heat engulfed his cock in ecstasy. He waited for a minute, to get adjusted to the feeling, until Micah arched his back off of the couch, moaning out  _ Lane, god, fuck me already you stupid prick,  _ and that he did.

 

_ “Faster, Lane. Shit, faster, deeper, harder, anything, please,”  _ Micah was writhing underneath him, wanting,  _ needing _ more. His clit was as hard as a rock, red, leaking, begging to be touched. His sounds were like music to Lane’s ears. So, naturally, he bent to Micah’s insistent moans and went as fast, hard, deep as he could. Wet slaps of their bodies thrusting together filled the empty house, with the low moans and the stench of fermented grapes. Lane moved a hand to grind it against Micah’s aching clit in time with their thrusts.  It was so hot, everything was so  _ hot,  _ and Micah couldn’t handle it. 

 

He came with a loud yell, cum splattering over his lover’s dick. Lane followed soon after, pulling out and cumming all over his partner’s stomach and chest.

 

They were both spent. Somehow, Lane gathered all of his energy that he had left and started lick the cum off of the brunet’s snow-white skin, every crack, crevice, angle, imperfection free of the white substance, leaving a trail of hickeys that would be a pain to hide. Their lips met feverishly, teeth clacking, nothing if not messy. 

 

No words were said. 

 

They didn’t need to be.

 

Micah and Lane shuffled around on the couch to shove certain sensitive body parts back into boxers, and to readjust their positions until Lane was under the other, playing with the brown waves of his hair with one hand, tracing patterns along the scars on his chest, and Micah was resting his head on Lane’s heated torso, almost going to sleep at once before he heard:

 

“I love you Micah. Lots.”

 

Micah pulled himself up to crane his neck and rest it on Lane’s shoulder, pressing a kiss in the hollow of his neck.

 

“I love you too, Lane. Lots.”

 

They were both sent into sleep with the one curled around the other, forgetting that Lane had died more than a year ago, forgetting that they both had powers that they didn’t want, that they shouldn’t have had in the first place. Forgetting that Lane couldn’t be solid all the time, and that Micah couldn’t hold him in the comforting warmth that he loved  _ so much.  _

 

For now, they were in the moment, sparing the chance to enjoy their rare touches for now. 

**Author's Note:**

> so, yeah.  
> first time writing one of these. tell me what you think.


End file.
